


Nightmare

by OneShotWonder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:19:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7830193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneShotWonder/pseuds/OneShotWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a nightmare about hell and Sam does his best to comfort him. A snippet of one short morning scene between the brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmare

Dean could barely catch his breath to scream when the demon sliced the back of his legs, shredding the flesh into ribbons with long, quick cuts. His arms were tied up neatly over his head, but they did little to support his weight. The dingy metal hooks shoved into his shoulders and arms pulled his weight up so his feet could barley touch the ground. Stretching the skin much farther than he thought it could go. When he did get a foothold, he slipped easily on the puddle of his own blood, growing slowly beneath him. He tried to breathe in once more and quickly realized a rope was placed on his neck and someone was pulling it from behind him. The demon pulled slightly, then harder, until Dean felt the blood rush into his face and his throat close.

To his surprise, instead of thinking about the pain, he thought how the rope must have felt in the demon’s hands, how the coarse braid probably felt like power, like strength. Then as suddenly as he could realize, it was his hands holding the rope, and he could feel the life escaping from the person he was choking. He pulled harder and harder, until his hands bled and the rope cut deep into his victim’s neck, gurgling sounds escaping their mouth. The only regret Dean had in the moment was that he couldn’t see their eyes, couldn’t watch with pleasure as the life left the soul in front of him.

Dean awoke, struggled to breathe as the air closed in around him, the suffocating smell of blood and burning flesh from the nightmare still filled his nostrils. As he awoke he sat up in one motion, clutching at the sheets and then quickly wiping his hands of the phantom blood that he could still see on them. He panted and gasped feeling his neck, feeling his hands. He didn’t look over but he knew Sam was sitting up on the bed next to his, giving him space while whispering vague reassuring words. He could hear his own voice, but it seemed far away. _NO, no… please no… I didn’t, I didn’t…_

He sucked in more air and it came in clear, the musty smell of the motel room, the open whisky bottle on the night stand, the smell of old coffee that had sat out all night. He was still gasping in panic when he threw the sheets off of himself, completely soaked through with sweat, and propelled himself into the bathroom. Dry heaving into the sink, he let the cool water wash over his hands. He was thankful there was nothing in his stomach to come up and as it slowly calmed, he laid his head against the cold porcelain sink. He took a long moment, trying to think of only the cold water, the pattern of the wallpaper, and Sam's strong presence behind him. His breath came back to him then, and he took deep gulps of air, then finally slow breaths through his nose.

Sam wasn’t unsympathetic, but he knew that only after Dean had calmed down could he approach him. The older Winchester was deadly on a normal day, but when he was in a panic like this, and knowing full well he kept a knife under his pillow and a loaded gun within reaching distance at all times, Sam didn’t want to take his chances.

Finally, when Dean’s breathing slowed and he closed his eyes, leaning against the egg yolk colored sink, Sam approached him. “You are ok.” He made it a statement rather than a question. “I am going to touch your back.” He warned Dean and placed his hand on the sweat covered shirt, then guided Dean to sit on the toilet. Dean winced at the touch at first but let Sam sit him down and he leaned his sweat covered head against Sam's stomach. “You are ok.” Sam said again in a gentle voice. They sat this way for a few minutes, Sam’s hand on his big brother’s shoulder, not moving at all.

Dean listened to his brother’s slow breaths, the beating of his heart, steady and calm, unlike his own. He concentrated on that sound, until he could feel his own heart make its way slowly back into his chest.

“Yeah, I am good.” Dean finally managed in a shaky voice. And he pushed Sam gently away. “Let me shower, I am a mess.” He leaned down to start the shower without looking Sam in the eye.

“I will go grab coffee and breakfast. Something light.” Dean nodded and felt grateful that his younger brother knew when to leave. He vaguely recalled that the sun had just come up, it was probably only 5 in the morning, and he wondered where Sam would be able to find food at this hour. He could feel Sam give him a pitying glance as he closed the bathroom door and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He stripped off his sticky clothes and hopped in the shower, aware of every sore muscle. The water was hot and it felt good to let it wash away the sweat and dirt. Then he cried, silently and unashamedly, he let the tears fall. Because he was alone, because he needed to let them out, because he needed to be strong again when he stepped out of this room and he didn’t know how much he had left in him. It felt like every time he had mustered up energy in the past few weeks it was his last, he was sure he had nothing left to give. But then Sam would look up to him with those puppy dog eyes, those eyes that looked to him for answers, for guidance and protection, and he found new dregs of strength from somewhere inside himself. One day at a time.


End file.
